The Wingless Bird
by andthemoonbeamskissthesea
Summary: Loki is banished to Midgard for a misdemeanour. For his sins he is stripped of both his powers and his sight. In asking a mortal for help, he learns what it means to be truly vulnerable.
1. Chapter 1

The lean dark man stretched out on the park bench began to stir; his long lashes fluttered on his cheekbones and his leaden limbs quivered. A slim hand came up to his shoulder length hair, black as the night but in some disarray. Gods above, his head throbbed. For a few brief moments Loki could not recall who he was, where he was or even why he was there. Then in a painful flash of memory, it all came screaming back to him. His furious 'father', his brother's pitying eyes and the home he had been forced to leave behind. He was in the realm of the mortals, temporarily or permanently he did not know, and only Odin could call him back.

He gingerly sat up, eyes still shut against the light, tenderly inspecting his aching body for broken bones or worse damage. Nothing serious, as far as he could discern. He could hear the hum of everyday life; the sound of footsteps as people went past, birds twittering, a breeze through the branches of trees. The human world sounded disappointing and banal to his ears. He finally opened his eyes, flinchingly at first, preferring not to do anything that might exacerbate his headache. A wave of horror washed over him. Everything was still black. He could not see. He was blind. His true punishment, he realised. Loki felt that he could weep, if he had not been so angry. Mischief and lies might be his remit, but Odin had proved he could be capable of great cruelty.

As wretched as he was, Loki knew that he could not wallow. If he didn't try to enlist help, he would starve. The thought that he would be obliged to ask a human for aid galled him, but there wasn't an alternative. His place of abandonment was unfamiliar and the loss of his eyes made survival infinitely more difficult. He caught a few words of someone's conversation as they went past; they were speaking English at least. One of the human languages he could understand. With trepidation, Loki tried to stand up. He knew he had made the attempt with too much haste and cursed himself for a fool when he overbalanced and fell to his knees. The grit of the tarmac dug into his palms and the skin came away with an intense sting. His pride boasted the greater injury.

Just at that moment, he heard light footsteps come rushing over and gentle hands clasped his thin shoulders.

'My word, are you alright? Do you need help?'

The voice was female, young. He heard the concern and the pity. It was too much to be borne.

'No, leave me be' he snapped. 'I don't need your assistance.'

The hands disappeared followed by an offended murmur

'Suit yourself.'

As he listened to the soft tread of the girl, leaving him where he crouched, his belligerence deserted him. It was no good: what was the point? He might still nurse the injustice of his fate like a viper in his breast, but his imperious attitude and his bitter words would do nothing to help him live. He would drown in his anger, or he would let it go and allow himself to be aided by any generous soul that volunteered.

'Wait', he called out. The desperation in his own voice made him wince. 'Please, come back. I do need your help.'


	2. Chapter 2

Silence greeted Loki's plea. He sat back, cross legged on the ground, and rubbed a weary hand over his face. He thought the girl had not returned, but her patient voice drifted down to him.

'What's your name?' she asked.

He had no reason to lie, nor could he muster enough brainpower to come up with an alias.

'Loki'. He raised his head, half hoping that his sight might have returned, or at least that by gazing blindly in her direction and listening to her voice he could form an idea of her appearance. He couldn't.

'Well, Loki' she said, taking him by the hand and gently helping him to his feet, 'do you have a place to stay tonight?'

That she even asked the question must have meant that he looked more dishevelled than he imagined. It had been a long time since he felt anything akin to shame, but the blush creeping up his neck was indication enough of his embarrassment. He reminded himself that his swallowed pride would have to remain where it was, for the time being. He brushed his hands self consciously down his front, feeling the material of his garments. A plain, and probably dirty, tunic and rough trousers. She hadn't enquired about or commented on his blindness; presumably that too was apparent.

'No, I don't' he answered in an uncharacteristically small voice.

Loki didn't see the sympathetic smile of his would -be rescuer.

'You look like you could do with a good meal too. I can try to get you set up at a hostel, but for tonight I think we need a short term solution. Come on.'

She put her arm through his. He could tell there was a height difference and a waft of something flowery assailed his nostrils. Aside from those scant details, the young woman was still a mystery. Whoever she was, she had shown him more kindness than he had ever received from anyone, mortal or god, and certainly more than he deserved (if he was being truthful). Loki still clung to a fading hope that Thor might intercede with Odin on his behalf or, if not, that he would come to Midgard himself to find him and bring him home in contravention of his father's orders. The likelihood of such a reprieve seemed to shrink with every guided step he took, chaperoned by the girl at his side who seemed to have taken his blindness, his arrogance and his strange appearance in her stride. He did not even know her name.

'And what am I to call you?' Loki's curiosity had got the better of him.

'Josephine', came the short reply.

She really didn't seem to be in the habit of revealing anything about herself. Loki understood that; the impulse to keep one's cards close to one's chest. It made self preservation that much easier. Nevertheless, he knew that he would never be able to gain her trust if he wasn't forthcoming with answers. And he also knew that her trust would be useful. Loki was ever the schemer and that would never change, however far he might fall. Resolved as he was to remain an open book to Josephine, he could not make any promises either to himself or to her that he would be completely honest. That, he observed wryly, was not necessary.

But he suspected that she was the kind of person who could spot a liar, or indeed a prevaricator, at a hundred paces. Thus far she had not questioned him about anything except his name and yet she seemed content to bring him into her home. Either that or she was simply reckless.

They had walked in near silence, Loki lost in his thoughts, as Josephine occasionally alerted him to a step or a kerb while he uttered quiet profanities every time he missed one and stumbled. The sounds of life surrounded him; cars, people, laughter. He did not know how long they had been walking or how far but eventually she brought them to a halt. Loki ran a pale hand through his tangled hair again; he smelt damp earth and heard the jangle of keys as Josephine rustled around in a bag. They must be at her front door, in her garden.

'Here we are', she declared, ushering him gently over the threshold.


	3. Chapter 3

A warm hand slipped into Loki's cold fingers and led him to a seat. He sat down carefully, still unsure of himself. Every movement he made was careful and exaggerated. He imagined that he looked somewhat ridiculous, stumbling around and holding his arms slightly aloft as though an infant just learning to walk.

The crinkle of packaging, the snap of doors and cupboards being opened and closed, the gush of running water: they were in the kitchen.

'I'll make you something to eat,' said Josephine. Loki cocked his head in her direction: she was over to his left. 'And then I'm sure you'd probably appreciate a bath and some fresh clothes. The sofa converts to a bed so I hope that'll serve; it's not particularly roomy but it's comfy enough. Oh, and I want to take a look at those hands of yours. Get some antiseptic on them to help them heal.'

He listened to her, mutely observing the ease with which she gave orders; he would be obliged to submit fully to her ministrations. He was hardly in a position to argue and he had to admit that she was being more than just kind. She had taken him into her home, was prepared to feed him and offer him respite while asking for nothing in return. One didn't come across that kind of altruism in Asgard very often. Loki was loved by his brother, but he was so different from his shining sibling, and in his father's eyes that made him a disappointment. Certainly, the punishment that he had received at the hands of Odin more than equalled the crime; he had been made sightless and impotent and it felt more like revenge than retribution.

A quiet 'clunk' on the table in front of him and a brief touch to the shoulder signalled that Josephine had placed his meal before him. He thanked her in the most genuine tone he could muster. He couldn't remember ever being this hungry, but then realised that even to eat would be a task now that he was blind. Just as he was about to ask her to help him, he felt her sit down beside him.

'Here, hold the bowl like this. It's just some chicken soup; I hope that's alright for you.'

She guided both of his hands in her own, encouraging him to grasp the bowl as if it was a large cup.

'Thank you, that's most kind of you.' Loki sipped at the hot liquid. It was wonderful.

He carried on drinking, eagerly consuming his meal while he listened to Josephine get up from her seat and bustle about the kitchen. When he had finished, he placed his bowl down gently. She had taken a seat on the opposite side of the table. He was straining to hear any noise that she made; he could feel her eyes on him. There was a pregnant pause, a moment weighted with expectation.

'So', she began, 'are you going to tell me your story?'

Finally, the price he must pay for her generosity. She wanted answers. Telling her exactly who he was, where he came from and how came to be here was a simply ludicrous idea; she would never believe him. Half truths and white lies would have to suffice. He leaned back in his chair, trying to give the effect of appearing relaxed.

'What is it that you wish to know specifically?'

'Let's start slowly.' She had noticed his hesitancy. 'Where do you call home?'

'I'm very far from home, but I'm sure you'd realised that.' He felt a little pang as the words left his mouth.

Evasion, and she knew it. Loki listened to Josephine's breathing; in and out, in and out. He heard an almost inaudible sigh at his answer. She was frustrated that her interrogation wasn't immediately bearing fruit.

'And your family? What about them? Or don't you have one?'

He realised he would have to open up a little, offer her something.

'I do have a family, but my relationship with them is...' He couldn't find an adequate adjective that would sum up the pain, the humiliation and the distance that existed between himself, Thor and Odin.

'Rocky?' Josephine suggested.

'Yes, rocky' he allowed himself a defeated smile. 'My brother and my father, they don't understand me. And they haven't tried to either.'

'Well I can try to, if you'll let me.'

Her hand landed gently on his arm, squeezing briefly before letting go. Loki turned his blind gaze in her direction, hoping that his face conveyed the gratitude that he was feeling and that the sight of him wouldn't disgust her. A wave of longing suddenly washed over him: he wanted to know what she looked like.

He was asking the question before he even knew it, his burst of curiosity getting the better of him.

'May I...touch you?'


End file.
